Comparison
by Gliblord
Summary: Rukia can barely speak under the weight of her new name.


**Comparison**

Why did she always smell like cherry petals?

Hisana hadn't hinted of them. Not even he did.

Underneath a prim pall of paperwork his desk slept, silently scorning the resolution of the candle above it.

He intoned her name.

Rukia flung back from the entrance, jerking as if in desperate prayer. "Honored brother!"

"It is one o'clock, Rukia," Byakuya said flatly. "Why do you disturb my hours?"

"I didn't mean to intrude..."

"Leave me."

A sympathetic sliver of moon, at which she would have glanced but for the muting rain, rimmed the office window.

"Yes, of course. Only... if it wouldn't trouble you..."

"At once," he decreed.

Rukia's spine thrilled with ice. He'd swatted her speech and all but blunted her ambition with the suggestion of a scowl. How strong he was, she blushed, how worthy! For an unpolluted second of terror her legs defied her fever to thaw, but the next thing she knew she'd slid past the shoji, stolen down the stairway and joined oblivion. Byakuya creased his brow and resumed his work.

--

A captain's mind--and his habitat--were blank at all times. She was being... had been... insubordinate at best. Her voice had quavered like water, which in turn shook loose his concentration.

Shihouin Yoruichi had taught him, one scorching summer day, that emotion was the sole stuff of significance in a yawning universe. She let a handful fall through her fingers. A grain of sand, her parable had gone, means nothing until it throws itself to the winds. The formations sculpted by these waves of enraged sand last for hundreds of thousands of years. How can anyone hope to make a difference except through passion?

Her point seemed valid at the time, but that was before her exile. Now Byakuya knew that emotion was only the enemy of truth.

Yet why did this inexplicable fragrance persist?

He tried to push it away, but, like house-guests or hollows, unwelcome sensations seldom sank once excited.

The image of Hisana, sweating sumptuously under a cloudless noon, leant her taut gait over Byakuya's brain and raised her plowshare to seduce from the soil the smallest of smiles. How similarly those two behaved. How similarly they'd grown! And how succinctly similarly they adulated him.

How much meeker Hisana seemed when, traits tabulated, she and her sister were compared.

A Directory of Shinigami Heroes slammed closed, sending motes of dust spinning in the air. Byakuya terminated his session early. The candle's garish flame had failed to conquer the smell, so he ruthlessly rubbed it out and appeared at his bed adjacent, where he could lay his head on the plush and compose a sweet dream of Hisana, promising himself that his duties would distract him when he awoke.

Rukia nursed no idea of the place she held in his heart. She let the night sky wash over her, connecting the stars bright enough to prick the downpour. When she was younger she'd taken smug pride in mapping constellations. If those shinigami jocks were so smart, why hadn't they seen all the uncharted Chappies that so obviously peered down at her?

These days she dodged anyone who might recognize her. Doors lead not to opportunities but to adequate hiding spots. The mere mention of "Kuchiki" made her shrink several sizes. When had she become such a wreck? However strenuously the rain strained to keep her company, it could not answer her, and niisama was just as distant, (if not as liquid). Why had she felt compelled to ask him about the dilatory pace of her seating tonight, when he was busy? Partially because she loved the solitude, and because she was most confident when she was alone; mostly because the darkness concealed her fear. For it was Byakuya who had opened this door for her, and Byakuya who could just as handily trap her behind it.

Rukia blinked. She picked herself up off the wetgrass, adjusted her sheath so as not to arouse suspicion, and plodded towards her quarters. It was no longer appropriate to stay awake ruminating amidst a storm. She would ruminate in the shower.

---

Byakuya's nose rankled before his lids stirred. The cherry petals had gotten stronger.

Eyes furious and free of sleep, he sat bolt upright and directed a great gale. Memos danced and bedside lanterns shattered.

"Captain, are you okay!?" yipped one of his servitors. "Should we break down the door!?"

Byakuya surveyed the wreckage, hardly believing.

"Byakuya-sama!"

"No! I am well."

"But..."

"Tell Abarai he is to meet with us at the 6th Banquet Hall at three thirty."

He heard the servitor's disinclined shuffle, and stifled a sigh. This, of course, meant he inhaled instead, which precipitated an unfortunate sneeze. The smell had not gone with the wind.

He could not ignore it, nor could he file a complaint. The problem presumably stemmed from some subliminal allergy, but what could have triggered it? After Byakuya bestowed the bed its sheets he fetched a broom from a collapsed cabinet, and as he swept he thought of children and kings, men and gods, motives and ends. He concluded, as he typically did, that the meaning towards which he'd endeavored all his life was something he'd had since birth, and that in the process he'd lost any chance for contentment. Byakuya could no more reverse the sands than he could move Seireitei, yet the city tripped over its heels to promote him as leader. So he buried his urges. Out of his connections he wove a rigid web of command, appointing himself its overseer.

An ivory vase lay miraculously intact. The flowers inside, however, dangled on the verge of death. Byakuya tucked the flowers safely in a corner and, neglecting the vase, strode across hallways adorned with revered Kuchiki kakemono into an artificial atrium. Here he felt at peace letting his emotions fly.

Hisana...

The conversation had taken place where he stood. While he'd slowly stroked her sun-touched hair, she'd repeatedly whispered thanks to his chest. He'd clenched his fist each time. He'd asked her how she did this to him, and she'd smiled: "Cherry petals."

"What?" Byakuya wrested his attention from the shimmering midmorning dew.

"Your sword is made of them, no? So you're made of them too."

Words escaped him. Hisana nearly giggled at how aghast he looked. "Have you ever seen sakura blossoms flowing downstream? They used to be a fixture of mine. I collected the biggest ones as badges of honor. And you..." She ran her hands around him. "You are the biggest of all."

"I think I smell cherry petals on you."

"That's only you expressing yourself through me. I'm your vase."

"Such strange imagery," he said, brow lightening. "If I had known I was eloping with a poet I might have reconsidered."

She thanked him for the compliment. "Byakuya..."

"Hisana."

"Do you think my sister is wading through a river of flowers right now?"

"I do not know. We shall ask her together."

As her heartbeat raced against his, their lips almost touching, she felt all but immortal. Decades later, Byakuya still had no intention to abjure their marriage, despite his house's directives. But he understood that if Kuchiki Byakuya, champion of the nobility, too openly bent doctrine to suit himself, Seireitei's subtle politics would seep even dirtier. With Rukon unrest ripening daily and every pair of eyes pointed his way, veering further past the line was not an option. He had to deal with Rukia today, lest he risk his position as de facto troubleshooter and weaken Seireitei from the inside. Once the harmony of the city was lost, so was everything else.

His meeting with Rukia would not serve his interests alone. It would ease Hisana's guilt. It would support an established vehicle for stability. It would be for Rukia's own sake. Byakuya withdrew inside, drafting his agenda for the day in darkness.

---

"Well, if it isn't my favorite runt!" A wise host of knuckles imparted Rukia with a solemn surprise noogie.

"Kaien-dono!" she gasped against his locklike embrace. "You're... ch-choking me."

"Eh? Oh, whoops!" Kaien apologized uneasily, backing away with his hands in the air. "Guess I don't know my own strength!"

"I-it's alright, Kaien-dono... You did not hurt me."

"What's with the droop, Luckia?" he pointed, employing his favorite (and most awful) nickname. "Everytime I see you standing by that pond, gazing into nowhere with those gigantic squid-like eyeballs, it looks like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders!"

"No, really, Kaien-dono, I'm al--"

"I, for one, won't stand for it anymore. You've got all of Thirteenth Squad down in the dumps!"

"And by 'all of Thirteenth Squad' he means himself," called a voice.

Kaien's face twitched as though someone'd konked a puppy over the head with a rock. "Mi-Miyako! Where are you, babe?"

"Away!"

"Wha?"

Rukia couldn't help but chuckle at this response.

"See? Chin up, kiddo. It's such a beautiful day! Grass whistling, sitellas singing..."

"Where do you think you're going, Sentaro!? Come back this instant, you moron!"

"No can do, Kiyone! If you're gonna be overbearing then I don' want to track inventory with you!"

"...Children playing."

"Kaien-dono..."

"Listen to me, Luckia," he sighed. "If you've something on your mind, best be out with it. We're all family here."

"Family, huh?" Rukia knelt onto the grass, her reflection on the water betraying a weary smile. "Tell me about yours."

"Again?" Kaien scratched his head. "Nah, my family's as boring as they come. I've got a brother and sister who bicker constantly, but my parents were decent enough, I guess. I hear Kuukaku's gotten herself a new pair of knockers to go with that arm and that Ganju's formed his own gang of rejects, but we haven't really kept in touch lately. You're the lucky one, Luckia. Adopted into blue blood against all odds! That Byakuya dude must really dig you. Seems to have a thing for common girls... Can't say I blame him, 'course..."

"If Nii-sama truly loved me, he would show me the slightest sign of respect."

"I'm sure he's just trying to play big brother and taking it too far. Sort of like me, come to think of it."

"No... he's different from you. He's nothing like anyone, and he knows it. You're nice and sweet and caring. You're present. You convinced the others to stop talking about me behind my back. If Byakuya-nii really cared about me, he'd have requested my seating by now. He'd have had some hand in my training. He'd have told me the reason I was adopted in the first place!"

"Hmm... not that the compliments aren't merited, thanks, but cut the dude some slack. He's just as new to this as you are, and I'm willing to bet a thousand little brothers he's not superhuman. Give him a chance and he'll turn right around. Tell him what's troubling you. If that doesn't work, then he'll have me to answer to."

"I'm sure that would go over smoothly," snorted Miyako from somewhere.

"B-babe! Not helping!"

"Thank you, Kaien-dono. I will heed your advice." Rukia stood up and bowed.

"Yeah ya will, kiddo." Kaien did not suppress a grin. "It's the best there is, after all. And I swear to god, Miyako..."

"What? I wasn't going to say anything."

"Please! You were just waiting in the wings with some witty comeback, like 'The best there is?' Try the most inflated! or Your advice is about as valuable as moist tinder."

"Noooo... I was waiting for you to mock yourself."

"Fell right into that one, Kaien-san!" yelled Sentaro, the alcohol on his breath percolating Rukia's sensitive nostrils.

"Look hine and kinser!" Kiyone hiccuped.

"What have you unleashed, you unseen heathen!?" Kaien seethed, avidly hunting for Miyako in the bushes outside Ukitake's teahouse. The captain rolled the window up to investigate.

"Kaien-san? Is something wrong?"

"It's nothing, sir. Just lookin' for my wife."

"This is family." Rukia wryly committed the scene to memory.

"Rukia!"

"Renji? What are you--"

"Doing here?" Renji doubled over, panting, "Message from Byakuya-taichou: Kuchiki Rukia is to meet me at the 6th banquet hall at four o'clock."

"What?"

Renji cleared his throat. "Kuchiki Rukia is to meet me at--"

"No, I mean why?"

"I haven't got time to go into the details, Rukia. Just ask him," he said gruffly.

"But--"

"I'm sorry, I'm already late. I'll talk to you later tonight, alright?" He saluted her.

"Wait!"

But he'd already vanished. How Rukia envied him... If only she were a vice-captain like Renji, Kaien-dono might notice her and... and then what? He was already happily married. How she envied Miyako! How she envied her brother for envying no one.

"What did we say about gloomy looks, Rukia-kun!" hacked Sentaro, whose projectile bottle of ale was intercepted just short of Rukia's face.

"You jerk, you could have killed her!" Kiyone bellowed, tossing the bottle behind her shoulder and herself almost striking Rukia.

"Are you kiddin'! I was doing her a favor, knocking some sense into her! Besides, a shinigami of her talent shouldn't even flinch. That's right, she's much more talented than you'll ever be! Makes me wonder why she hasn't risen the ranks yet!"

Rukia politely genuflected in the presence of Ukitake-taichou and headed for the gates, head half hung in shame.

---

"Enter," echoed the chamber.

Rukia did as she was told, peeking through the crack of the doors before striding inside with all the confidence she could muster. "Byakuya-nii-sama."

He sat at the head of an ivory dinner table. The hall itself was dautingly long, but, far removed from her brother's office, its open opulence invited honesty and daring, (as indeed was the intent of the original Sixth Squad Elite). Rukia asked permission to seat herself beside him, which was customary in the presence of a Gotei captain.

For a while neither spoke, simply staring at each other, at each other's hair, at the tapers on the wall, back at each other. The two needed to gather nerve, and they understood this. So they waited until, (for some reason one could easily mistake as romance), they chose independently to speak at exactly the same instant.

"Nii-sama, why did you summon me?"/"Rukia, have you been wearing perfume?"

"Perfume, nii-sama?" Rukia said, perplexed. Was it some sort of metaphor? Were her ears defective? Was his latent reiatsu stressing what few brain cells she had left?

"Any scent or aroma? Cherry petals, for instance?"

"Byakuya-nii, I do not understand," she asserted with infinite innocence.

Though it pained him, Byakuya pressed. She blinked profusely throughout, as though his questions were the fruit of some especially bizarre dream. Finally, he grew satisfied that the smell, which wafted more redolent with each bat of her eyelashes, was a delusion. Now all that was left was to sniff out (so to speak) the root of the problem.

"Nii-sama, when are you going to arrange my seating?"

"I shall ask the questions. Why do you wish to be seated so soon?"

"Lieutenant Shiba Kaien of Thirteenth Squad believes I am ready, but lacks the rank to recommend me formally."

"Just as a ryoka necessarily submits to the superior arms of a shinigami, so would you fall to a foe beyond your inbred limitations. You will be ready when I judge it so."

"'Inbred limitations'?" Rukia smarted. "Why did you adopt me in the first place?"

"To keep you from harm."

"Then why don't you train me?"

"There are more importunate matters than you."

She stared at him, lips rigid and red, letting the tension build. How Byakuya envied those eyes, so keen and robust with youth. Just like Hisana. She had been able to open his eyes; why couldn't he extend the same courtesy to her sister?

"...Ukitake is an honorable man. He will be more present to help you with your studies than I can afford to be."

"I see."

"It would have been wise to apprise you sooner," he nearly apologized. "Rukia, if I may?"

"Nii-sama..." Byakuya had snared one of her hands in his, and curiously she could hear her logic subside. A sense of empowering limpness claimed her when they touched, filling her with strength even as it was syphoned out. They were the world's most harmonious circuit. Rukia could not say she'd known of this feeling before, nor could she say that she particularly cared.

Byakuya rubbed her palms for idiosyncracies. Hers and Hisana's palms, (thank God, curse God), were not identical; Rukia's was different, harder, stronger. Her nubile beauty matched Hisana's classical flair, but she demonstrated a competence and autonomy her sister, in her isolation, had never experienced. This, he reasoned, was the source of the smell, which intensified with each comparison he drew.

He could not allow this to distract him forever. He was too integral. The smell had to cease.

"Speak, Rukia," he called. "And do not say my name."

"Byaku... I mean, I... I don't know what to– eek!"

She was so cute.

Rukia squeaked as he embraced her. Then she took him in, inhibitions gone, eyes closed, as though she had been waiting her whole life for this. His heart pulsed against her breast. Kaien's hugs were amicable; Byakuya's was meaningful.

The imaginary demarcations that forbade their union unraveled. She was no more his sister than a muskrat, and her "brother" had always been just a man with inbred limitations: a daffy, dotty, simple-minded man, who shunned intimacy in the name of saving the world, and of saving her. He was, ultimately, a man striving for martyrdom... just like her.

Today, at long last, he'd chosen to let his passion steer him. Why? It didn't matter. All she could do was be bold and seize this opportunity. His hand began to massage her chin. She gasped sharply. It was now or never!

Rukia surrendered herself totally to his kiss.

"Rukia... Rukia," he repeated between breaths, the thing he wanted to ask interrupted by reckless moaning.

Had she ever waded through a river of cherry blossoms?

"I smell cherry petals on you." Byakuya rose suddenly to his feet, leaving both chair and sister as he turned to face the exit.

"Is that a b-bad thing?" She hitched back into her seat, her respiration ragged and needy. 6 , his robes reminded her.

"I cannot assuage all your misgivings, Rukia, but know one thing," he said, his words facing the door through which he was departing. "Know that you are my 'badge of honor.'"

Content that he'd quenched the ravaging smell, he left her alone to sort out her feelings, as alone was the way she'd always wanted to be. The natural balance of relationships had been restored, and Byakuya could once again shackle himself to his work. Rukia would decipher his sacrifice today, recognize the love laden deep inside this virtue, and revere him for it. She would because she had to.

A single tear mixed with Rukia's essence on his lips.

She had to.


End file.
